


Scarred

by kayura_sanada



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Doesn't Find Out, Post-Season/Series 01, Post-The Questing Beast, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 01:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11197617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: The first time Arthur saw the scar, his breath left him in a rush.





	Scarred

The first time he saw the scar, Arthur's breath left him in a rush.

That first year, Arthur had seen Merlin in states of dishabille practically from the moment they'd met. He'd seen Merlin pull his shirt up to wipe his brow, wrench it off when he was hot or when he didn't want to get it dirty. He'd seen him sleeping in that tiny room above Gaius' chamber, the window open and the blankets more on the floor than on him. But at some point - and he didn't even know when - that had all changed.

Until they'd found some bandits attacking one of Camelot's villages and Merlin had barely managed to escape one's grip, losing his jacket in the process. And then the fool had gotten shoved back by another of the men before Arthur could reach him, and he'd seen Merlin's chest as he fell to the ground, his shirt rising up so high it nearly smacked his face.

For a moment, he'd thought Merlin had been hit, after all. That what he'd seen as a shove had actually been a blow. But in the next instant, he saw that the mark on his chest was not one that could be made from a sword or mace. If it had been larger, more randomized, he may have thought it from a fire. But it was centered in the middle of his chest, a deep, round scar with sharp, jagged edges, and Arthur realized, in the middle of a fight, with enemies on all sides, that Merlin had been attacked by someone with magic.

His first reactions were twins and disparate, and very distracting in battle. A wave of guilt, that someone who worked for him, someone under his protection, had been harmed so thoroughly, without Arthur even realizing it. And a wave of suspicion, nearly as crippling, as he wondered how Merlin had gotten hurt and why he'd never come to Arthur about it. That suspicion was why, when they finally managed to beat back the worst of the horde and had gotten away from the rest, Arthur did not bring up what he'd seen.

Over the course of several weeks, Arthur learned that Merlin never took off his shirt, and rarely took off his jacket. He'd never really noticed before. He'd never paid attention. But now, he saw Merlin working in the stables with his shirt still on, something he hadn't done the first few months working under Arthur's employ. (And best not to admit why he knew that.) Merlin even slept in a shirt. When Arthur went in to wake him up early one morning, specifically to see the scar again, he found Merlin actually sleeping, on a humid night, in a shirt.

And so it wasn't until over a month later, at the height of the humid summer season, when they once again got to leave Camelot again without an entourage, that Arthur managed to get Merlin out of his clothes. (Not in the way he wanted but wouldn't ever speak aloud, however.)

"Merlin, get over here. You stink as much as the horses."

They'd stopped their horses at a spring. That was it. It wasn't a brilliant plan, but it would get the job done, by the gods.

Merlin walked slowly to Arthur's side. It took all of Arthur's effort not to seem like he was watching, as if he were just taking off his own shirt and pants and uninterested in Merlin's actions. It took quite a while for Merlin to do the same, only he stripped off his pants first. Arthur had to swallow back his huff of annoyance. He waded into the stream and turned to see Merlin with his hands on the hem of his shirt, his gaze on the sandy grass beneath his feet.

The feeling of suspicion returned, a tingling, dread-like sensation he'd come to know very well these past few months. He splashed the water, making Merlin jerk. "Hurry up, Merlin! You look like an idiot, standing like that."

He rinsed his arms off as Merlin finally pulled his shirt up, nearly throwing it off in his haste, and stepped into the water at the same time. Trying to make it seem natural? Trying to hide it faster? It didn't matter. Arthur caught sight of it just as Merlin tossed his shirt behind him and sunk into the water. "What is that?" he asked, trying very hard to sound surprised.

Merlin looked behind him. "It's a horse, sire."

Merlin's attempt to make him look the fool could not dissuade him from his mission. "No, _Mer_ lin. That scar on your chest. What is that? You didn't have it before."

Merlin shuffled on his feet. The horses behind them snuffled softly and nickered quietly to one another. The water rolled softly around them. "It's nothing. A burn."

His suspicion went up a notch. Several notches. "A burn."

Merlin flushed. Flushed! He was such a girl. And while Arthur had prepared himself for a potential betrayal, he hadn't quite prepared himself for seeing that red blossom over Merlin's face and ears and neck, and even down to his shoulders. And the water was clear enough for him to see that line of peach down to his legs, and Arthur needed to keep his eyes up and vision focused, or else he might lose track of what he had to do.

"Merlin."

Merlin flinched. Arthur was expecting the man to run, or to search wildly for some lie. Instead he started babbling. Arthur couldn't even catch what he was saying. Something about Gaius? And his mother? Someone dying? He caught Merlin saying he "had to do it," but since it was the only intelligible phrase coming from the man, it didn't exactly help him. He held up his hand. Water ran down and dripped from his elbow. "Make sense, Merlin. Now. If you can."

Merlin sank up to his chin in the water. Arthur thought he might actually be going to drown himself, except the man stopped and waded at chin level. He must have sunk to his knees in his effort to hide. The water splashed up to his lips, making them glisten. Perhaps he hadn't thought this through as well as he should have. "My mother was sick. You were sick. And Gaius - it was a mess." He dipped his head a bit more, but had to pull back up when the water skimmed his lips again. "It was back when you were dying. From the Questing Beast."

Those hazy days were almost lost to Arthur. All he remembered was the unbearable heat and the daggers constantly stabbing into his shoulder, and a feverish anger, almost like fear, that gripped him. And then waking, and seeing Merlin and Gaius before him, huge, relieved smiles on their faces. His father, clapping him on his good shoulder, tears battled back behind his eyes. All he knew about those days was that it had been close. Very close.

Merlin took his silence as the demand it was. "You were dying. We didn't have any way to save you."

And, Arthur realized with horror, his recovery had been miraculous. A mix of skill and luck, according to Gaius.

Or perhaps a mix of magic and _stupidity_.

Arthur couldn't breathe. "What did you do?" he asked, and found his voice little more than a rasp.

"...I went to the Isle of the Blessed."

He broke the law, that's what he did. He turned to magic. His heart was so loud, so raucous inside him, it seemed to drown out every noise but Merlin's voice. Merlin, who penetrated the thick fog that wrapped around him.

"I gave my life for yours. Only it wasn't mine. They took my mother's." Horror, and terror, as Arthur remembered Hunith feeding him, the wrinkles around her mouth as she smiled at him and thanked him for taking care of her son. Oh, gods. "I prepared to go, to take her place before it was too late, but Gaius went. I had to save him. She'd... hurt him. Nimueh. I fought her. She died, but not before this." And Merlin gestured under the water, presumably referencing his chest.

Arthur hardly heard it all. His mind swam. It was such an unbelievable story, it had to be true. It explained how he'd recovered so quickly from something so supposedly fatal. It explained, even, how often he'd fought from under unconsciousness, the heat and pain making his eyes water as he fought to get up. Poor Gaius had been put through hell, he remembered vaguely, shushing him back to sleep while he thrashed and snarled. He couldn't even remember why, or what had been happening. Just that burning need to get up and do something. He'd thought it was him still trying to fight off the beast, but perhaps not? Perhaps he'd sensed, somehow, the magic being used on him. The life being traded for his.

Gaius had known. Merlin likely hadn't meant to let that little bit slip - another reason to think the insane tale was the truth; Merlin would never put Gaius in danger. "Nimueh?" He remembered hearing the name. A powerful sorcerer, one his father himself hated and feared. "You fought her?"

Merlin nodded his head, bouncing the water into tiny waves. The hair at the nape of his neck bobbed in the water.

"Merlin. She's a powerful sorcerer. There's no way you would have defeated her."

There was a flush again, but this time a paleness. A sick, almost jaundiced look. It shot through Arthur, seeing it. That was the look of a warrior after his first kill. It was a look he himself knew. Viscerally. "She thought I was dead. After she hit me."

The element of surprise would have been practically the only thing Merlin would have had going for him. Would it really have been enough? Against someone like her? Arthur splashed through the water to Merlin's side. "It should have! Stand up."

Merlin scowled. He even actually balked. Like a child. But when Merlin saw the look on his face, he stopped and did as ordered. His gaze, however, stayed on the water beneath them.

Arthur took his time looking, now that he finally had the chance. It actually didn't look as bad as it had the first time he'd seen it. Perhaps he'd blown it out of proportion in his mind, or perhaps the magical property of it caused it to heal differently. In any event, the skin was far less bright and distorted than he remembered. Still, it was telling. A horrible concavity made the space in-between Merlin's pectorals far deeper than it should have been, the skin wrinkled and mottled beyond nearly all recognition. Like a lightning strike, the edges cut jagged lines across Merlin's chest. He could only envision the deep impression of the wound when it had been given, the blood and blackness and the stink of burnt flesh. The clothing that must have sunken into the wounds, perhaps even melted into them. The pain. His fingers ghosted over the bumpy skin before he realized what he was doing. He snatched his hand back.

"So how are you still alive?"

"A life for a life was all that was asked. Nimueh's life serves as well as mine, it seems."

This man had no skills to speak of. Whatsoever. He was a klutz. He couldn't fight, could hardly stand, and made dropping things an art form. He scared every animal from sight when they hunted, and was only a half-step away from reciting poetry and hugging trees every other second. He whined, he insulted, his ears were enormous, his joints were like a skeleton's, and his serving skills, arguably the easiest skills to own on the planet, were atrocious. He wasn't even punctual. And for some reason, following orders seemed to be some sort of anathema to him. He had likely beaten the women by stumbling onto her and accidentally pushing her onto a sword or something. Or perhaps by complaining to her to death.

But he was so stupidly, blindly loyal that he would seek out a sorceress on the Isle of the Blessed to hand over his own life in order to save Arthur. And then, when pressed for an answer, would tell this to said prince, who was under oath to hand people who made such deals in to be executed.

Executed. For saving his prince.

Arthur shook his head and stepped away. "No," he said simply. He watched something fall in Merlin's gaze. He turned away. "You burned yourself. Because you're clumsy, and foolish, and you wouldn't know how to properly bank a fire if your life depended on it. Which it almost did."

There was a very long beat of silence behind him before he heard Merlin suck in a sharp breath. "Right," Merlin finally said. His voice wobbled. Arthur pretended not to hear.

"Let's go," he said, stepping out of the water and heading for his clothes. "We have much more ground to cover by the end of the day."

He heard Merlin splashing behind him and imagined the idiot pushing against the waves instead of cutting the diagonal that would work with the pull of the tide instead of against it. How anyone like him could manage to battle back a sorceress was beyond him.

The information, he decided, was something he would deal with later. Much later. Years later, when he could somehow wrap his mind around magic and sorceresses and deals with devils that could all, somehow, point to nothing more than someone wanting to save someone else's life. How could something logically be bad also logically be good? Merlin had done something stupid when he'd gone to try to bargain with a sorceress for Arthur's life. But he'd also done something so amazingly brave and loyal that Arthur couldn't even comprehend the magnitude of the sacrifice, that Merlin, who had seen him at his worst countless times, could do something so final as send his life up for Arthur's.

Maybe, hours later, he would find it in him to order Merlin to never do anything so unfathomably stupid ever again. Maybe, days later, he could think about Merlin fighting alone against the repercussions of the deal he'd made, the damage he'd caused, in order to prevent a single life from being lost, and not feel such a confusing swirl of emotions he just dropped the subject to the dark depths of his subconsciousness. Maybe, weeks down the line, he could consider what that might mean for the both of them. And perhaps, months or even years from this moment, he might realize that this day, this moment in time, had been the first time they'd skirted along the edges of what it was that pulled them so closely together.

But not now. Now, in this moment, Arthur told himself it was a normal burn scar as he threw Merlin's clothes at the man and tried to keep his gaze above waist level.


End file.
